by David Skuy
Charlie was across from Emily, and for the briefest of seconds he saw her grimace. He understood she would want to shoot. She was a good player, and had done well on what was probably the weaker line. To her credit she did not complain and always offered encouragement.
“You own this goalie, Trish,” she said. “Smoke it past her.”
They made their way to centre to wait for the shootout to begin. Trisha waved the other two towards her.
“This goalie is quick on her feet,” she said quietly, “and she’s good on the deke. I think we should shoot if she stays back in her crease. She’ll play for the deke, I know it.”
Charlie did not know how to take that. He was not used to being told what to do on a breakaway, unless it was by Hilton. Or was the problem that it was Trisha giving him pointers? Her advice made sense, though. The goalie had been back in her crease all game. He’d been thinking shot too.
The shooters from Northern interrupted before he could answer.
“Look,” a tall girl said, pointing her stick at Julia. “That’s the best they can do.”
“It’s cute, in a pathetic way,” a girl with a red helmet said.
“Maybe you’re just pathetic — in a pathetic way,” Julia shot back.
The tall girl rolled her eyes. “Listen to the tough girl. Did any of you even touch the puck this game?” she said, to her friend’s great amusement.
Julia laughed. “You might have noticed me putting the puck in your net; and you’ll see me do it again in the shootout.”
“In your dreams, girl.”
“Good luck in the shootout,” Trisha said, “and while you’re missing the net, we’ll discuss whether any of you girls have washed your hair in the past week.”
The referee blew her whistle. “Give me the first shooters,” she said.
The Northern players huddled up.
“That was fairly intense,” Charlie said.
Trisha and Julia were laughing.
“That was fun, dude,” Trisha said. “Now I’m gonna roof a backhander just to show her who’s boss.”
Julia gave Charlie’s shoulder a punch. “They’re just messing with us. Go get us a lead.”
Charlie skated to centre.
Scott’s voice boomed over the crowd noise. “I command you to score, Joyce.” then a chant went up from the TFH students: “Char-lie! Char-lie! Char-lie!”
He felt his nerves kick in. The noise level rose higher and higher, until the cheers echoed throughout the arena.
“When I blow the whistle you both go at the same time,” the referee said.
Charlie took a deep breath to refocus.
The ref blew her whistle.
The crowd roared, and Charlie set off at a slow pace. Unfortunately, the goalie did the exact opposite of what he wanted. She came way out to challenge, a full metre above the crease line. If she stayed that far out he would have to go with the deke. At the blue line, he picked up speed to try to shake her up, cutting right to his forehand, and then swinging it to his backhand at the top of the circle. She had not budged. Alarm bells sounded in his head. The shot would not work. She had the angle. But changing your mind at the last second was about the worst thing you could do on a penalty shot. She was so far out, though. He had to deke.
The goalie suddenly backed up until she was in the middle of the crease area. He had waited too long. Charlie felt sick. Without thinking he took one more stride, dragged the puck with his right foot forward, and let it fly from about three metres. His chest constricted. The goalie dropped to her left knee and flung out her blocker. She had misjudged it slightly and the puck went just over the blocker, hit the shaft of her stick, and bounced off her shoulder.
She fell backwards, swimming her arms over her head, and in doing so the thick part of her stick hit the puck and it sneaked inside the right post, spinning on its edge. The Terrence Falls supporters went crazy. It was a goal — a lucky one.
He looked back to his end. The Northern shooter was high-fiving his teammates. He had scored also. At least the pressure was off him now. Trisha and Julia greeted him with an outstretched glove.
“Thanks for the heart attack,” Trisha said.
“It went in,” Julia said. “Who cares how?”
Charlie looked up at the ceiling. “At the last second I changed my mind and was about to deke. That was a fluke. She fooled me by collapsing to the goal line at the last second.”
“I’m still going shot,” Trisha said. “She’ll try the same stunt with me.”
Charlie was about to offer some advice, but she left for centre before he could. She sure is confident, he thought.
“I hope she’s right,” Charlie said.
“She better be,” Julia said. “She told me ten times how she never misses on a shootout.”
“Shooters who have gone must go to the bench,” a referee said to him.
Charlie patted Julia’s shin pads with his stick. “I’d either shoot or deke,” he said. “Otherwise, I have no clue.”
She rolled her eyes. “Thanks for that.”
Pudge opened the door and held out his glove. They punched, and then he gave Charlie a healthy whack on the helmet.
“I never doubted that would go in for a second,” Pudge said.
Charlie took a deep breath. “That was living way to close to the edge,” he said.
“Nick, I believe it is time to use our natural wizard powers,” Scott announced.
They were next to the bench by the boards. Nick was propped up on some pillows so he could see the play better from his wheelchair.
Scott stood and put his hand on his heart, while Nick held his arms up over his head and flickered his fingers.
“Ipsy, Apsy, Ticksy, Bisha,” they chanted. “I see a goal, and it’s scored by Trisha.”
Scott paused and then yelled to the bench, “Tell Dalton to get more powerful wizards for the Chelsea game.”
The whistle blew and Trisha took off like a house on fire and, as before, the goalie came out. Trisha did not hesitate. At the hash marks she snapped a wrister, glove side, to the top corner. She made a big curl deep in the corner, stick raised over her head. She had done it.
“Awesome shot,” Charlie said, pounding Pudge on the helmet.
“I didn’t know you were such a Northern fan,” Pudge said, and he shook his head.
Charlie glanced over in time to see the Northern shooter with her stick held high. He banged the top of the boards. Still tied!
“I hate both shooters going at once,” Charlie said. “I don’t know who to watch.”
Trisha came to the bench with a big grin on her face. She hopped the boards and stood next to Emily. The two friends punched gloves very softly, as if the goal had been no big deal. Charlie had to hand it to them. Those two were calm under pressure, and that was a big-time shot.
“Peanuts, toffee, toast and pie, Julia will score, and that’s no lie,” Scott and Nick chanted this time.
The noise got even louder, which Charlie hadn’t thought was possible. “I can’t look,” Pudge said. “Tell me when it’s over.”
The whistle blew and suddenly the arena grew quiet, as if everyone watching had taken a collective breath.
Julia went in fast, like Trisha; and again, the goalie was out of her crease. Two metres from the hash marks Julia pulled the puck back. The goalie held firm. Julia brought the puck forward.
Charlie leaned forward, barely able to watch. There wasn’t much to shoot at. The goalie was still way out.
Julia snapped her wrists, and the goalie dropped to her butterfly.
Charlie gasped.
The crowd roared.
Pudge was hugging him, and the Terrence Falls players were jumping up on the bench and screaming and yelling.
At the last possible moment, Julia had faked the shot, taken the puck wide left on her forehand and swept past the helpless goalie to stuff it in the wide-open net.
The Northern shooter skated back to her bench, her stick across
her knees, her head down.
Charlie hopped over the boards, and he was not the first one. Michelle, Li and Sandra jumped into Julia’s arms and they began hopping up and down. That broke up quickly and they raced down to Cassie, who waited with arms extended. Soon all the girls were in a group hug, pounding each other on the helmet.
Charlie and Pudge stood to the side. Something didn’t feel right about joining in.
Julia noticed them first. “The boys are all lonely,” she said. Michelle, Sandra and she came over and gave them hugs, and soon all the girls were celebrating with Charlie and Pudge. Charlie felt slightly embarrassed — and at the same time it was fun.
They lined up to shake hands with Northern. He braced himself for a diss when he came to the tall girl.
“Good luck against Chelsea,” she said.
Her friend added, “And good luck with the fundraising.”
Charlie finished shaking hands, and as he skated off caught up with Julia.
“I’ll rank that up with the greatest goals of all time,” Charlie said to Julia.
“We haven’t won yet,” she said.
He could tell she was stoked, though. “You got us closer,” he said. “I could barely watch.”
She hopped off the ice, as did he, and they walked together to the dressing room.
“I was so nervous I thought I’d be sick,” she confessed. “Then that crazy goalie came so far out of her net and I didn’t know what to do. I changed my mind at the last second, and I was praying, ‘Please don’t poke check me. Please don’t poke check me.’”
“I was saying, ‘Please score. Please score.’”
She laughed and pushed open the dressing room door. Charlie followed her in. She turned and put a hand up to his chest.
“This is kind of the girls’ dressing room, Charlie.”
Michelle and Li were giggling at him from the corner. He felt beyond dumb.
“Um … I’ll go find Pudge,” he said.
But as he opened the door, the rest of the girls piled in and he had to step aside.
“Can we help you, Charlie Joyce?” Emily said.
“Are you afraid to get undressed in your own room?” Trisha teased.
Charlie knew he was beet red. There was no way out of this but leave — and quickly. “I just wanted to say great game, ladies. You won it for us. Awesome. We take this effort level into the Chelsea game and we’ve won that money.”
“Charlie Joyce came in to give us a victory speech,” Trisha said. “How cute is that, girls?”
Emily laughed. “Very cute, Charlie Joyce.”
“Thanks, Charlie Joyce,” the girls chorused, giggling.
“Right. Yeah. Thanks. Bye.”
He retreated to his dressing room. Pudge was unwrapping the tape from his shin pads. Zachary, Scott and Matt were sitting across from him on the opposite bench, and Nick was in his wheelchair in the middle of the room.
“It’s the Ladies’ Man,” Scott announced.
Charlie took off his helmet and slumped next to Pudge. “I really do stupid things sometimes,” he said.
“You also state the obvious a lot,” Nick said.
“And was there a reason you decided to almost not score in the shootout?” Scott said, with pretended curiosity. “In hockey you try to put the puck past the other team’s goalie.”
“How would you know?” Nick said. “Have you ever scored?”
“No,” Scott said, “but I knew a guy who knew a guy who had a cousin who once scored a goal in practice.”
“My mistake,” Nick said, holding his hands up in the air. “I didn’t realize you were an expert.”
“Chelsea is playing next,” Zachary said. “We should check them out. Maybe Savard and Burnett didn’t join.”
“They won their first game 14–2,” Pudge said, tossing a tape ball into the garbage. “I’m pretty sure they’re here.”
“Then we better play every period like it’s overtime,” Charlie said.
It had all come down to one game, and with the four boys across from him unable to play, Terrence Falls was seriously undermanned — literally. They had barely beat Northern in a shootout. Would it be enough against the Chelsea powerhouse?
It had better be.
26
REVERSAL OF FORTUNE
Charlie heaved a huge sigh and skated to the faceoff circle to Cassie’s left. He glanced at the clock — 2:25 to play and the score tied at three apiece. Chelsea had just missed an open net. Their winger took a fraction of a second too long to shoot and Pudge had been able to drive across the line and stop the puck. Cassie had then scrambled over and fallen on the puck to get a stoppage in play.
Savard was already in the circle to Cassie’s left. Hilton had made sure Charlie was almost always out against him, and on the few shifts he could not be, Emily had stepped up big time. Savard had scored two goals, but all things considered, Charlie thought that was a major victory. Even better was that while Chelsea had scored two in the first period, which gave them the first point, Terrence Falls had rallied for two in the next period to snag the second. They had traded markers in the third; and with so little time left, the next goal would almost certainly win it.
Charlie adopted a reverse grip and approached the faceoff. The ref held the puck over the dot and hesitated. That hesitation made Charlie flinch and he pulled his stick back. The ref straightened out and pointed.
“New centre for Terrence Falls,” she said.
Charlie put his stick across his knees and looked up at the ref. “I barely moved my stick,” he said.
She pointed again.
“You’re supposed to drop the puck when you hold it out,” he said.
The look on her face suggested he’d better keep his mouth shut if he didn’t want a penalty. He left the circle. Trisha brushed by him. Julia had taken a step towards the dot, but seeing Trisha already set up, she slowly drifted back to the hash marks. Charlie took Trisha’s spot, behind Emily.
Charlie looked to the point. Burnett had switched sides with the other defenceman, standing three metres inside the blue line close to the top of the circle. He had a deadly slapshot.
Emily looked over her shoulder. “You got him?”
“No problem,” Charlie said.
Charlie took a step away from the Chelsea left winger to make sure he had a clear path to Burnett.
Savard slapped Trisha’s stick; then the ref dropped the puck. It was child’s play for Savard to backhand the puck with a reverse grip towards Burnett. Charlie’s heart skipped a beat. He rushed towards Burnett, who had already begun his backswing. In horror Charlie felt himself tumble to the ice. He had tripped over the extended left foot of Chelsea’s left winger, but he had no time to consider if the trip was deliberate. Burnett was winding up right in front of him. He put a glove over his face and braced himself.
He didn’t feel anything. A roar went up from the crowd. Charlie looked up and then let his head sink back to the ice. Burnett had his stick over his head. No surprise there — it was too good a chance for Burnett to miss.
Trisha was screaming at the ref. “He hit my freakin’ stick,” she fumed. “What’s wrong with you. Are you blind? Are you stupid?”
“Button it, number 10, or you’ll get an unsportsmanlike,” the ref said.
“You threw our centre out for nothing, and then their centre whacks my stick before the draw and you drop the puck. Do you want Chelsea to win? Do you teach there or something?”
Julia stepped in between them and pushed Trisha away. “Forget it,” she said.
“But he totally hit my stick,” she screamed, looking at the ref.
“Trisha, you’ll get a penalty. We’ll get it back.”
Trisha growled and stomped her skate blade on the ice before letting Julia lead her away. Charlie stood, dejected, by the blue line.
One of the refs passed him.
“Didn’t you see their winger trip me?” Charlie said to him.
The ref shrugged. “
Not my call. Ask the other ref,” he said, looking away.
Charlie sat next to Trisha.
“I got tripped on the play by the left winger,” he said. “She totally stuck out her foot. The refs are sleeping.”
Trisha didn’t respond.
“I … um … I said, I got tripped …” he began again.
“I heard you,” Trisha said. “Don’t worry about it.” She stood up as Emily gathered the puck at the blue line. “Go for it, Em. Coast to coast,” she called.
Emily dipsy-doodled her way past a forechecker and cut up ice into Chelsea’s half of the neutral zone. Burnett was still out there and he swerved towards her, sweeping his stick at the puck. Emily was a hair quicker and fired it into their end, side-stepping Burnett and charging after it. Charlie admired her hustle. The girl never stopped skating.
The Chelsea goalie scooted to the corner to corral the puck, leaving it there for her defenceman. She took it on her forehand. The sight of Emily bearing down on her must have set her nerves off because rather than play it safe and rifle the puck behind the net she panicked and sent it up the middle. Sandra was there first, and moved in on goal.
The ref blew the play down.
The Terrence Falls students rose and cheered. Burnett had hooked her from behind, and the ref had called a penalty. Burnett was shaking his head and laughing, as if it was a bad call. Charlie wondered if it shouldn’t have been a penalty shot. Trisha obviously felt the same, and she made sure the refs heard her opinion.
“She was on a breakaway,” she yelled. “That’s an obvious penalty shot. Come on. Get in the game. That’s two lame calls. You’re so bogus it hurts.”
She was going too far. The ref would give them a bench penalty if she kept it up. “Trisha. We got the man advantage. We can’t afford to even it up,” he said.
Trisha stared at him, enraged. “Did you see it? Did you? She was on a breakaway.” She banged the top of the boards. “The ref is giving them the game.”
Charlie sat back. She wasn’t going to listen to him.
